


life is very long (when you're lonely)

by vermontghost



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (TV Movie 1996)
Genre: M/M, Multichapter, Other, Roleswap, doctor who - Freeform, doctor who roleswap, mcgann is a drama queen, roberts is still goo snake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25852336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vermontghost/pseuds/vermontghost
Summary: The doctor arrives on earth after being told that, in his current form, he has eight days to live. He has no idea what to do, so he decides to sleep through the rest of his life. this does not work.
Relationships: Eighth Doctor/The Master (Roberts), The Doctor (Roberts)/The Master (McGann)
Kudos: 7





	life is very long (when you're lonely)

**Author's Note:**

> Roleswap character designs belong to @space-boy-art on tumblr.

The stereo’s needle dragged along the record, and a figure slept on a disheveled couch. 

_ Mother, I can feel, the soil falling over my head...  _ the voice droned on, again and again, as the scratches skipped it back to the previous few seconds. that line, again and again, to the tune of the figure’s chest rising and falling. 

The comforter was soft - as soft as comforters can be - and tucked neatly into the wood beneath the mattress. 

He slept on a made bed, barely wrinkling the pillows. 

_ mother....mother....mother... _

the scratch grew with the pressure of the needle, and soon, with a sickening screech, the song sped up. 

With a groan, he sat up, brushing dark hair from his face, and stared out of the window. He grabbed the nearest item - a small cushion - and threw it at the record player. 

By some miracle, it muffled the sound, hit the off button, and the music was no more. 

His stomach grumbled. A human body took some getting used to. This was no different.

The effects of his faulty regeneration he knew too well. 

_ “You’ll lose feeling in various parts of your body, until eventually your heart begins to decay. You’ll spasm, and bleed internally, rotting into the ground like a dead mouse.” _

The sisterhood of Karn did not sugarcoat the condition. Nor did they offer anything except a terrifying, inevitable countdown. 

Eight days. Fitting.

With a stick, he scratched the wall with one straight line. 

What was the difference if he spent his last days here, or anywhere else?

He couldn’t travel - for fear of legs growing weak and gelatinous under him, and he’d stay in wherever dangerous place he found himself and put everyone else travelling with him in danger. 

No, he’d decided. After sonicing an ATM, he’d bought an old, dusty flat somewhat close to regent’s canal. 

Rest, he decided. He’d sleep the rest of his life away. No overdramatic goodbyes. Ace was gone, and everyone, for the moment, was safe. 

There was no one to say goodbye to - other than the master, but why would he care? Their history was, after all, just history. There was nothing to do but sleep. He drank a cup of chamomile to calm down, and slept for what he believed to be days. 

He’d woken up three hours later to the sound of a mutilated smiths record becoming even more mutilated.

A walk, perhaps. That might help. Too long sitting down, and his legs would shake as legs do when held up by toes. 

Another disadvantage of this body. Not tall enough to reach the ground (albeit, the bed was stacked with two mattresses) and not short enough to crawl out the window without difficulty. 

He stood up, threw on a jumper and a coat, and headed out. 

The streets were deserted. Well, not entirely. There were the occasional homeless ones - ratty clothes, cardboard signs asking for basic human needs. He dropped a twenty-dollar bill into the palm of their hand, and walked on.

Cruelty was not lacking on earth. Or, really, anywhere. 

He crossed the street, forgetting to look for cars. One honked angrily, screeching to a halt. A flurry of curses was yelled from the open window. 

The words stung like a slap across the face. They didn't use to. 

He shook it off as best he could and walked towards the canal, gazing at the ripples twinkling across the 5AM water. 

What do you do when you have nothing left?

What do you do to prepare for death? 

What is it like?

t=The clock read twelve minutes after he left. 

_ “Could’ve sworn it was longer,”  _ he murmured. No matter. He stood up and began to walk back towards the comfort of sleep. If he could fall into it again. 

The gravel skittered as he strode, secondhand oxfords scratched from a previous owner. He didn’t notice the position of the knocker - a few centimeters away from its place when he left. 

The stairs creaked, the wood bending softly under his weight. He pushed the door to the bedroom open - 

And someone stood next to the closet, rifling through the clothes he’d impulse bought at the crowded J Crew.

He froze. 

A robber? Did he lock the door? The lock had clicked shut. What would a robber want in the closet? Him? 

He facepalmed. This was a robbery. Not the time to make gay jokes. 

He thought for a moment. What the hell was one supposed to do when interrupting a robbery? the nearest weapon was an uncomfortably hard pillow. Not enough force? was that the word? to knock whoever it was out. 

There had to be something he could do. 

“Ahem.” The robber cleared their throat. “Are you done with your dramatic - and long - internal monologue or can I continue looting through your clothes?”

“Give me a moment,” he muttered. 

The robber continued looting through his clothes. 

Wait. 

He spun around and threw the pillow. It bounced off of him and hit the ground with a small  _ poof. _ The robber, unfazed, looked back at him. 

“Yes?”

“Get- get. you know. out.” 

The person smirked, and spoke with an exaggerated throaty drawl - a familiar one, although he'd never heard that voice before. 

“Now why, why would I do that, my dear?”

“Because. Uh. Property? Something along those lines.” This was not working.

“Why would you kick out such a dear, dear enemy?” 

Dear? 

And like the drip from a faucet, slowly, everything became clear.


End file.
